The Dying Age of Thought
by BowieMagpie
Summary: "I knew that I was different when I discovered what it felt like to think." In the golden age of technology, Romy Price sold her soul to the Dollhouse and became India. Now, in the third year of her contract, India makes a discovery that could change not only her fate, but the fate of the Dollhouse. And who does she choose to involve but a certain sociopath in a sweater-vest?
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! Thanks for reading my story. It's Dollhouse-oriented (duh) and the main character is my OC India. Sorry this first chapter is so short; it was kinda just me trying to put my brainchild down on a document. If this ends up going anywhere I'll try to update regularly. Enjoy!

I knew that I was different ever since I discovered what it felt like to think. After three years of being nothing but a body, a vacant mind waiting to be filled with fabricated memories and false intentions. From somewhere deep within me, a spark was ignited and it blazed up within me.

It happened when someone asked me a question.

"Hello India. Would you like to shower now?"

I turned and looked at her. She wore a loose white cotton outfit, and spoke with an airy tone to her soft voice. I blinked.

_Do I want to shower? Why wouldn't I? But why would I?_

"...yes." it was tentative.

I don't know how or why, but I registered this as thought.

To my empty, simple brain, thought was a strange concept. Here, we don't think. We run on instinct and we want for nothing. For us to think would be an issue for them, the men and women who walk above us, up on the balcony above our oasis, moving with purpose and...thinking. Thinking and speaking and being. A woman with a strange voice, different than the other speakers, stalks along the high rise with an air about her that I can almost taste from here on the polished wood floor where I dwell. She talks to a young blonde in a wrinkled argyle vest and he radiates the feeling of 'thought' even stronger than she does. I watch him glide around his workspace, typing on a keyboard and gesturing madly at a flustered-looking oriental girl. I wonder what they talk about. Think about...

"India, would you like to go swim in the pool now?"

It's him, the man. He goes a lot of places with me. I trust him.

Is trust a thought...?

"Yes...I enjoy swimming in the pool."

Why did I say that? Do I enjoy swimming? Does one need to be able to think in order to enjoy something?

I turn in the direction of the pool area, only to almost bump into Tango.

"Hello, Tango."

"Hello, India. I'm getting a treatment. I enjoy my treatments."

I see a tall sandy-haired man about a foot behind Tango. The word 'handler' comes to mind. I'm not sure why.

"Goodbye Tango."

I watch her and her handler ascend the stairs up to where the thinkers walk. They are greeted by the computer man, and I loose sight of them all as they go through a translucent glass door which shuts tightly behind them.

I look at my piers as they walk around me. I wonder if they think. After a few minutes, I arrive at the answer 'no'.

Because none of them look up. To the whole other world that exists only a staircase away, the world of the conscious.

Why don't they look up?

Reviews greatly appreciated. :)

~Bowie 3


	2. Chapter 2

**Bowie here. So even though no reviews or favorites yet, I think I'll add another chapter. Enjoy!**

"India, would you like a treatment?"

"Yes please."

I hide my smile and try to keep a blank face.

Two weeks. I've spent the past roughly fourteen days developing my awareness of thought and consciousness, and these people still see nothing. The man, my handler, who's name is Harmon, still treats me like a fragile child, and for that I am relieved. I don't know what happens if one of us starts to act differently here, but something in my gut tells me that they would not like it. This place seems to run on a system. A tight system. In fact, I know it does. And systems, or at least the people who uphold them, don't like flaws.

And as I watch the others mill around, painting and eating and sleeping and swimming, I know that I am a flaw. Or at least I'm well on my way to becoming one.

Harmon helps me up from my art station, where I've tried to keep it basic by painting a butterfly and a pine tree. There's nothing any of the Thinkers could possibly derive from that. I look around at the projects of my piers; all depicting similar lighthearted images. A house, a car, a cat, a leaf, an insect.

We pass Dr. Saunders' office, and I see that she's speaking to Mr. Dominic.

"...it's hard to analyze their mental health when they're in doll state, Mr. Dominic. I suggest that we..."

Harmon and I pass out of hearing range, but I yearn to turn back and listen in.

There was that word again...the one the Thinkers always use when talking about us.

_Doll. Doll state._

Is that what we are? What I am?

Dolls?

With his firm hand on the small of my back, Harmon leads me up the stairs. My previous thoughts are forgotten. A surge of excitement rushes through my veins, and I try not to tense up. I don't lie when I say it; I do enjoy my treatments. Not because of the blinding pain or the imprinting of a new personality, but because of the tech. The machines and the man who runs them. The genius.

"Topher."

"Harmon! And India, of course." He smiles at me and I grit my teeth against a blush.

Harmon's hand on my back is replaced by Topher's, and he leads me through the glass door to the chair.

_The chair._

I wonder what it's made out of, and who put it there, and what exactly Topher does to my head when the blue light flashes and I am replaced.

"Take a seat."

Topher leaves me in the room and talks to Harmon a few yards away. I walk up to the chair and run my hand over the buttons and wires, questions about them pooling in my mind, pushing at my mouth like water at a dam, questions that desperately want to be asked. But I keep quiet and sit down, letting my head lean on the headrest and feeling my hair cascade over the sides.

I watch Harmon as he turns and walks back down the stairs, and before long, I'm joined by the genius again.

"Bon voyage!" Topher winks at me, and it's the last thing I see before the light and the darkness.

First it's white, then it's gray, then black, and suddenly my world is all in color again. My head is slowly elevated, and I look up to see two men and a shit ton of machines.

I remember who I am...my name is Kate.

One of the men smiles at me and offers his hand to me as support. I don't think I know him, but he has a trustworthy face and warm eyes that draw me in like hot cocoa on a winter's day. I take his offered grasp and let my feet hit the floor. I'm not sure exactly what I'm wearing; it's definitely not my normal office pant-suit, but I can fix that later.

I have a murder trial to attend.

**What do you guys think? Reviews appreciated! **

**3 Bowie**


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